


Get Closer

by Arisusan



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Dialogue Heavy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 19:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16667248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arisusan/pseuds/Arisusan
Summary: Fortress Maximus and Red Alert have a lot in common, from a therapist to brushes with serious mental illness, but the fact remains that Red has something to fear from Max. Now that they're working together, they'll have to find some way to trust each other.





	Get Closer

**Author's Note:**

> Okie dokie, so: this is just a bunch of snapshots that I wouldn't post if there weren't so little content for Red/Max. But there isn't a lot of content, so here we are! Probably reads as romantic, but you could also read it as platonic between a couple of people who aren't too familiar with tactile contact as a positive thing and who both want more of it. 
> 
> Mandatory disclaimer that I don't have PTSD, paranoid personality disorder, or any psychological background besides what I took in psych AP back in grade 12, so this is mostly based off of my own experiences. Moving on. This is based off the idea that even after all the progress they had under Rung, they're still pretty shaken up by the Overlord incident, and that sometimes the only way to deal with stuff is just to talk yourself through it one incredibly awkward situation at a time.

The two of them sat opposite each other under a stuffy silence in the small meeting room, Red Alert's hands palm-down on the table and Max's fidgeting in his lap as the seconds ticked on.

Red Alert was the first to blink. "How do I know you won't turn on me?"

"I'm—what?"

Red Alert's hands pressed further down, cables tightening with a click.

"You have a history of violent and irrational behaviour," he said evenly. "Your mental state is worse than mine at this moment. You have  _guns_  in your  _legs_. You recently survived an encounter with the mech who tortured you into a coma. What evidence do I have that you won't have another episode and gun me down?"

Max blinked a couple of times, trying to think of a true answer that wasn't going to freak the mech out or make him into a permanent enemy. Truth be told, he  _had_  been expecting some kind of conflict about that, but nothing this…blunt. Figures.

"Well." Red Alert  _had_ chosen to stay here, so there had to be something that he trusted. "I guess it doesn't mean much if I promise to be good, does it?"

"Not with your past behaviour."

Fair enough, yeah, but Max'd be damned if it didn't chafe a little.

"Will you believe me if I tell you I was never going to kill Rung?"

"I would." Red Alert regarded him impassively. "But you  _were_  about to kill Whirl."

Really?

 _If we were,_ some part of him said,  _he had it coming_.

"I—I don't know," was all he could say, shocked both at Red's question and at his own response. "I don't think so. I don't think—I wasn't meaning to. But I've had treatment since then, and I got closure. Even if there were some casualties."

"None of your behaviour since you were imprisoned would say otherwise."

 _Prison_. Even like this, the word froze his spine and crawled up his neck like a parasite—but probably best not to tell that to Red. It wouldn't send the right message.

"What I'm trying to say is: you don't have any hard evidence that I'm not going to do it again. That a problem?"

Red Alert paused, staring at him intently. He never seemed to pay anything less than 100% of his attention to anything, mathematically improbable as it was.

"Yes. But I can mitigate that. Part of it is my problem, as well." He pulled out a datapad, placing it on the table. "I will ask you to do some things. You are allowed to refuse."

"Go ahead."

Max settled back in his chair just a bit, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'd like a detailed functionality diagram of your root mode and your alt modes," Red said stiffly, "And a list of of the weapons and ammunition you can use or have built-in."

"Dunno if I can do that."

"Understood. You have undergone enough physical trauma that it may be detrimental to your mental health to have that information in my hands."

"Yeah."

Funnily enough, he could see Red's carefully flattened hands start to twitch, and wondered if that curious posture was some kind of exercise to keep him from fidgeting.

"I would also appreciate it if you were able to tell me your emotional state when it could be relevant to your continued health, as well as mine. I have a list of more preventative measures that I will transmit to you later."

"Rung set you up to this, did he?"

"He suggested that other mechs would be more…cooperative if they understood my thought processes. For instance, in talking to you I see that you use casual speech patterns to distract from the severity of what we are discussing. You don't want to acknowledge what happened with you, but you are closer to accepting it than you were."

Too far. Max didn't bother with an answer, only a sullen stare.

"This is a list of some facts and strategies that might help you to deal with me," muttered Red, sliding the datapad across the table to him and saying nothing more.

Oh, well, he supposed that was as close to an apology as he'd get.

"Rung talked with me, too. He told me about what happened with…Overlord."

"Yes. He cleared it with me beforehand and I recorded your session. It was a breach of privacy of which Rung was unaware, but I needed to assess your threat level before deciding to work with you."

"Oh. Then you know  _I_  know about the whole thing with the oil reservoir."

"Yes."

They avoided eye contact, but he noticed Red's hands growing even stiffer and starting to tap against the table top.

"So I can understand where you're coming from," he continued. "But that doesn't mean I'll do everything you say."

"I…yes, I understand that."

"And I don't like it when people spy on me. As a rule."

Red shot him a wide-eyed look, catching him directly. "Do you want me to stop recording this, then?"

Oh,  _God_.

This was going to be an interesting few months. But—he could do this. He'd chosen to do this. Better stuck out here with another lunatic than having to look around each day and remember what happened.

"You can keep doing it now," he sighed, "But could you  _tell_  me when you're doing it?"

"…we can discuss it."

"Okay." He steepled his fingers in front of him. "So you've got things you need me to do, and I've got things I need you to do, but they're different."

"Rung felt we could compromise."

Was it just him, or did Red look a bit chastened?

"He's probably right," he admitted. "How about we talk this over tomorrow, and make a list of rules that we both have to follow?"

"I don't have any objections."

"Great. I'm off to recharge, then."

"There's one more thing you should know—" Red stammered suddenly. "I always keep my audials open to all volumes and frequencies."

"Yeah. Rung told me."

"But I felt you should hear it from me."

Max had to smile. "Thanks."

…

"Max." Red Alert forced himself to count to five before pressing on. "Max. Are you there? Answer me."

One, two, three, four, five.

"Max? If you do not answer within the next ten seconds I will trigger a Code Indigo shutdown. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six." His vocalizer tripped over itself. "Seven—"

"Red! Red, I'm fine."

Red was  _not_  fine. Max had taken thirty full seconds to respond with audio or text. This meant that he had to be aware of Red's message for more than long enough to process it, pass on another message or do any number of things, and then get back to him. Max's locator beacon placed him on flat, dry terrain in an unpopulated area, so he was not being ignored for the sake of politeness or survival. Even then, a quick ping could have been sent to acknowledge the message. Either something had happened to Max, or he had done something that he'd needed to do something even more important than speaking to Red.

"Explain yourself."

"I said—"

"I told you I might need you to tell me why you do the things you do. I need it now. Why did you take over thirty seconds to answer?"

He made no effort to keep the tension—a cocktail of fear, annoyance, anger, and haste—out of his voice.

"I was analyzing a tire tread and running it through my database. I waited until the search was completed before answering."

"Why not ping a response?"

"Because I like to concentrate on one thing at a time. Whoever I'm tracking down, whoever made the tracks. It's not in my database, by the way. Seems to be Tesaurian in origin, but I can't place them beyond that."

"I did not ask you for your report, I asked you why you took  _thirty_ _seconds_."

"Red, come on—" The annoyance in Max's voice was fading quickly into anger.  _Good_ , thought Red with an enthusiasm that surprised him. Max would show him what he was when he lost control.

"Max, it takes far less than twenty seconds to run a database search. I have no evidence that you were not using those twenty seconds to send a comm to the DJD. Or the Galactic Council. Or any number of groups that want the Enforcer for their own. You owe no loyalty to the Autobots, and you have shown yourself to be violent, unstable, and deliberately cruel. Tell me you wouldn't do that."

"Here."

To Red's surprise, he got a file containing Max's brain activity over those thirty seconds. It could be altered, of course. Perhaps he'd expected his questioning, and spent the time they argued putting together a fake log.

"Why—you didn't have to give me this."

"Nope."

The anger had vanished from Max's voice. Was he trying to disguise anxiety? Trying to earn Red's trust? No, if that were the case he would not have changed moods so quickly, and he would not have encouraged questioning. His best guess was that Max was pleased by Red's admitting that he wouldn't ever ask for a brain activity log.

"Then why did you?"

"Because we're not going to get very far if we can't rely on each other. I figured I should make the first step."

Maybe it was forced friendliness, the change in tone serving as an outstretched hand.

"Even so."

Or maybe it was genuine. Max had certainly showed no signs of reverting to his behaviour in the first days aboard the Lost Light.

"It's easier for me, you see. I know you're the last person who'd sell me out."

Max was too trusting. His own recent instability and doubts about the Lost Light's captaincy—doubts about Autobot heroes—should have been at least a warning sign that his devotion was to the process rather than the goal.

And yet…he had accepted Red's questions and muffled his anger, treating him with a temperance few mechs would offer in the face of such accusations. Max of all mechs should have exploded, not surrendered.

"Your logic is sound." He reset his vocalizer, trying to put his contradictory thoughts into words that would be what Max needed to hear without making a false promise of trust. "You would also be the last person to betray me to the DJD, as most of your excessive and uncontrolled violence was directed  _against_  Decepticons."

It didn't preclude betrayal to the Council or the Consortia, but Max's movements over the past few centuries had him on Garrus-9 or in a coma, making it unlikely he'd had any contact with organics.

Silence rang out on the other end of the line, marked by the faint grind of metal as Max shifted position. Perhaps he was trying to decipher Red's statement and guess at whatever meaning he suspected was hidden behind it. However, a less likely scenario involved him debating whether or not to share more of his sins with Red. The most improbable—but still possible—scenario he came up with was that Max was a double agent taking a moment to savour his victory.

"You're saying that as far as you know, I might hurt you, but I won't join them."

Again, Red was hard pressed to explain the mixed cheer in his voice.

"Yes."

"I guess that'll be good enough for now."

He sought for something to say that was true, but helpful. Rung had told him that pushing people away would hurt rather than help. At times he disagreed, but without Rung he would need a support network of some sort in case…in case something happened again.

Max seemed willing.

"It will be. You have given your trust to me, and I will keep it. I can't trust you yet, but as mission control I have the advantage, which will reduce the risk."

"You sure know how to charm a mech."

"I hear that a lot. Feel free to continue your operations; if you need me, contact me. I'll do the same."

"Just make sure you pick up right away," replied Max.

That had to be a joke.

…

"What's going on?"

Max's arrival in the control room was heralded by the clanging of his frame against itself and the floor. Between that and the alarm, Red Alert's audials were dulled down to a normal sensitivity—he was deaf, deaf and he couldn't hear them coming, couldn't run away, couldn't stop them.

"Go away!" he shouted, realizing with a sinking feeling that it had come out as a scream. "Before I shoot you!"

"Red? Let me get this alarm off first. Where are you?"

The big oaf blundered around, checking behind corners. Reluctantly, Red saw, he pulled up at the control panel and typed in the override code with a deftness few expected from those huge fingers.

Red pushed his systems into their lowest gear in preparation for the quiet, going as far as to shut down anything not directly related to his immediate survival.

It was only a matter of time before Max found him.

"Red?"

The word echoed sadly. Max did sound concerned. Or, was he trying to lure him out with the false promise of companionship and comfort? If he were, it wouldn't be Red's first time.

"I know something happened, and I know you triggered the alarm. You've probably calculated how long it takes to get here from my room. You know I came straight here. If we're in danger, I need access to our defense systems, and I need to take out whoever's out there."

How could he know who triggered the alarm? Any number of mechs could have boarded the ship, incapacitated him and set the alarm to draw Max out into a vulnerable position. But—no, Max could be in on it. They could have told Max to do this, to make it look like he'd been manipulated, leading Red to trust him.

All roads led to one conclusion: Max was a weakness. No. Yes. Rung had said he could be trusted, he himself decided he could be trusted, and his session had shown him to be exactly what he appeared, but he was too close. And he'd grown close so soon.

Besides, Rung had trusted the wrong people before.

"I need you to tell me what's wrong so I can do that," Max went on. "You don't have to come out, just—tell me what I can do."

With shaking hands, he primed the rifle he kept hidden beneath one of the desks. Built-in weaponry was only useful so long as fuel was close to hand. You always needed a backup piece.

"You're in no danger now. Whoever, whatever comes in here, it's going to have to go through me. You know my parameters. You know my abilities. Unless it's an army and a Phase Sixer, I can stop it."

Or unless the danger was Max himself. He had to shoot him. He had to eliminate him before he found out where he was, and killed him.

"Wait—I'm sorry. I forgot to say:  _I_  won't hurt you. I can't. I am  _terrified_  of being alone out here."

His grip loosened momentarily on the barrel of the gun, then tightened again. Max had spent years with Overlord. He might have picked up his deceptively smooth speech.

But he also spoke true, from what Red had observed.

"You listened in on Rung's sessions. I hate Decepticons too much to trust them, and I've hidden nothing from you. I trusted you. Now, we both need you to trust me. Let me help you. Whatever's out there, or in here, I promise, I'll do my best to protect us. You don't need to shoot me."

The rifle had a periscope attached, for aiming in tight corners, and Red now saw Max's guileless face through the glass as he paused, then sank out of view with a creak and a groan, settling on his knees and—Red saw now, as he got him back in his sights—holding his hands in the air.

 _That_ was when Red collapsed into a fit of the shakes. It was the violent, drawn-out trembling of a mech's body when his brain wasn't able to do what he asked of it and his spark was so far gone it needed  _help_ , a spasm of fear or anger or sorrow or even happiness.

He'd done it again.

He'd been frightened. He couldn't remember why.

That  _did not_ matter. He had pointed the rifle and aimed and he had  _nearly killed Max_.

"Red?" Max called softly to him over the rattling noise. "I hear you. Can I come over to you?"

He remembered now. It just slipped his mind. Nothing to be concerned about. Except a dozen small things joined a dozen even smaller ones and set him off like he hadn't gone in some time.

"Yes," he gasped, reaching out blindly for the words one by one. "Max, please—meds. I need to take my medication. Missed. I missed. I missed a dose."

A huge form loomed up over him, quickly dropping to his side.

"You have some of your medication in your subspace, and I have some in mine. Do you want to give yourself the dose?"

Red shook his head—shook it even more than it was already shaking—in a "no." His fingers would slip, and he might end up clipping a coolant line instead of a neural cable.

"Do you want me to do it?"

He nodded sharply, still barely under control of himself as Max rummaged through his subspace on the edge of his vision.

"Got it. I'll need to touch you to find the right line. Can I?"

Another nod. "Yes."

Large fingers deftly felt along his back, finding a gap between the plates and his spinal strut and gently brushing over it. Max would have a torch and pliers with him to see the inner wiring and work it, which he now did.

Pain twinged faintly in his frame, paling in comparison to the shakes.

"Okay. I've found the wire. On the count of three, I'm applying the disruptor. One…two… _three—_ "

Red now winced in pain as the pliers pressed a small box of circuitry on to one of his main neural wires, then vented out warm air as his frame stilled and his fans went to work clearing out the excess heat.

Max's huge, heavy hand was still on his back.

"Is there anything else I can do, Red?"

"K-keep—keep touching me. It helps."

The hand slid up to the base of his neck, then down to the top of his hips and back up again, tracing circles as it went.

"That okay?"

"Yes." Red leaned into the touch, then leaned further sideways into Max, folding his arms across the tops of his knees. "Please."

"I've got you, Red."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

…

"Hey."

"Good morning."

Max settled in across the table from Red with a warm cube, blowing softly to cool it down.

"So, yesterday…"

"Early this morning, technically. I'd like to apologize—"

"Nope, not what I was going for."

Red was silent.

"I get if you want to forget about it, but I feel like we can both learn from that. I mean, I managed to talk you down, but I feel like I probably didn't do it the best way."

"Whether you're on my side or not," Red muttered, "I  _humiliated_  myself in front of you. I'm sorry."

"Hey, it wasn't that bad."

"I nearly shot you."

 _Even then_ , Max only shrugged.

"But you didn't. That's something."

"No, it's not. Using my own damn medication would be something."

"Coming from the guy who avoided getting shot, it's still a good thing. Better than what I managed."

"Yes, but only because it would be difficult to do as badly as you," Red snapped, then froze, then covered his face with his hands. "Don't you think it's best we don't talk about this? You're not Rung."

"It's less awkward in the short run, yeah, but in the long run…it might happen again. I want you to tell me exactly what I should do, and when, so you can snap out of it."

"Fine," Red said tersely. "I'll write you a note. Happy?"

"If it'll help."

"It might. Now, I'd appreciate if we could go back to drinking in  _silence_."

"You sure you're all right?"

"Of course not." The mech just did not know when to stop asking questions and let him sit in his own shame in peace. "But I'm no worse than average."

He almost regretted it, watching Max hunch in on himself and keep his eyes fixed on his cube, except for a flutter here and there to his face. But god—he'd not meant to be that vulnerable, nor let it get so personal.

Best to shove Max away quickly before he got any ideas.

"I apologize," he said again, "You weren't meant to see that."

"But I did," Max answered simply.

…

"Max, we're clear," Red called, setting the ship to autopilot. "If current parameters hold, we'll be back in four or so hours."

His partner should have been within earshot, but there was no response.

"Max?"

A quick glance found no sign of him. Their autopilot was fairly reliable, he thought, looking out into the darkness of space, and he would be able to hear any change in speed or surroundings.

It would not hurt to look for him.

A minute later, he found Max sitting with his arms around his knees in the back of the shuttle, staring at the wall.

"Max?"

No response. The mech must have let his mind wander back into his memories—not good.

"Max, I said we're clear of the asteroids."

Still no response.

He reached a hand out over Max's shoulder, edging into his vision. The other hand pointed at the back of Max's neck, ready to shoot a stun-bolt in case of an episode.

"Max."

Nothing still.

As softly as possible, he set his hand down on Max's arm, then nearly jumped through the roof when his engine roared suddenly.

"Max—"

But he didn't move, only flinching as he came back to reality.

"Sorry," Max murmured as the noise faded. "Wasn't expecting…that."

Red quickly removed his hand, realizing that it still lay there.

"You were absent."

"Yeah."

"We're on autopilot. The path back is unobstructed for four hours of flying."

"Good." Max sighed. "Good."

"Do you need anything?"

"Nah, s'fine. Just remembering things."

"Not—"

"No."

The air stained with the awkwardness bleeding out of them both.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Red asked gingerly, moving his hand to just hover over Max's shoulder, close enough so that if he wanted to, he could—

Max leaned slightly sideways, into his touch.

"Not really."

"All right."

He tentatively moved his other hand to Max's back, pressing between his shoulders.

"Do you want to stay like this?"

"Don't we need someone in the pilot's seat?"

"Only if I hear a disturbance."

"Then yeah. Yeah, that's be nice."

Red knelt down behind him, making himself comfortable and starting to stroke his back as Max had during his own meltdown.

"We have time," he said.

…

"Overlord. He's—tell me he's not coming. Please, Red. Please, I can't—I can't—"

Red Alert placed a hand down firmly on either of Max's shoulders, willing himself not to join in the panic. He had more than enough data to rule out Overlord as a possible threat, knowing his motivations as well as the Luna 1 security system inside out. Rung had said there might be times like this, and he would not fail.

"Max. I can hear every sound within a five mile radius. None of them are consistent with Overlord's voice or frame. The security feeds are monitored at all times, mostly by me, and are set to trigger the alarm if anything shows up that matches the profile of any known threat. Overlord is not here, cannot be here."

"That's—that's what they said, that's what they told me—"

"Yes, they lied. I don't know if he is dead, alive, or captured. I'm only telling you what I can hear and what I can see. Overlord cannot be here, and if he were, I would protect you. Do you trust me?"

"I trusted Rung and—and he didn't mean to, but he lied. He lied."

"Max. I am not Rung, I am Red. Do you trust me?"

Max's red optics glittered with a terror he knew too well.

"Max. Here, at this moment, to the best of my knowledge, you are safe."

He was nearly bowled over when Max's huge arms reached out for him and his head buried itself in his neck.

"You are safe," he repeated. "I will keep you safe. You are safe. I won't let him hurt you again."

"Red—"

"Shh." Red hushed him, stroking his back. "I will stay here should you need me."

The low rumble of Max's engine ran into his frame and echoed.

Max suddenly, and Red moved without thinking to press his mouth to his head, humming a soft reassurance.

…

"Max, may I clarify something?"

His partner looked up from the tune-up he was doing on his calf, setting his tools aside.

"Sure, I think."

For his part, Red made sure to move his eyes from his datapad, to various spots on the wall, to Max, and back again at random. Max had said his staring sometimes made conversations uncomfortable.

"We are friends, right?"

"I…guess so. I have to trust you as part of the job, and I like you, so, yeah."

"I see."

"What's this about, Red?"

"I don't know."

"Well, just so you know, I've been considering you a friend. Any reason to change that?"

"No, no, of course not."

"Okay. Good."

Max picked his pliers back up and Red turned back to his split screens.

…

He'd only just started back on his wiring when Red piped up again.

"Max?"

"Hm? You see anything?"

"No, it's—it's something different."

If Red weren't constantly nervous about a lot of things, he'd almost say he was nervous now.

"Shoot, then."

"Bang."

Max had to smile.

"That's the game that Decepticon told us about, wasn't it? Shoot shoot bang?"

"It's a joke," Red said woodenly.

"Yeah. So, what's up? Any more word from those guys?"

"No. No. What I wanted to address was—we interact under unique circumstances, given our histories."

"Yeah. Overlord. And we're both just here to stay out of the loonybin. Well, actually, I took the job 'cos I was feeling pretty stable, but it's still better for me than some other things."

"Meaning we are close by necessity. I'm forced to share my secrets with you to help myself."

"Kind of awkward, yeah," he admitted.

"And for both of us, tactile contact helps with our episodes."

"Where are you going with this, Red?"

They hadn't really talked about…whatever it was they were talking about, before. Not beyond just how to keep them both on the level and mop up when something happened.

They hadn't really talked about it, but it was still there.

"You touch me more often than I would have asked for, and you know more about me than I would have told you. But because of our situation, we've grown close."

"It's the same for me. Are you going to ask me to do another interview, or something? You're sounding antsy."

…

"I am. Antsy," Red clarified.

"Well, you know more than enough about me to, um, psychologically destroy me," Max rambled. "Which means you can trust me to keep your secrets. What's worrying you?"

"Do you want is to be close by choice?"

"We're already friends."

He steeled himself for the final approach.

"I know you let me speak softly and touch you when it's necessary, but…I find I  _want_  to do it."

"That's what I mean."

Max stood up from his seat, wandering over to kneel in front of him and look him in the eye.

"It's not—"

A finger to his lips cut him off.

"I mean, I want to do this—" Max cupped his face in one hand, stroking along the top of his cheek while the other hand settled at the base of his neck. "And tell you I feel safe when I'm with you."

Red could think of nothing to say to that, so he pressed a slow closed-mouth kiss to Max's lips instead.

…

Red kissed Max deeply as he pulled him closer, hands resting just lightly on his waist before moving to feel him, there, solid, reliable, Red.

Between Red's isolation and Max's…experience, the two of them had not often done this before, certainly not with anyone else. In fact, "this" wasn't anything you could put a name to, just the honest words that they shared and time together and on occasion, touches.

"I'm glad you're here," breathed Red, pulling away to press their foreheads together.

"Mm, between my combat capabilities and your senses, we stand a good chance in a fight."

Max stroked his back and pushed forward to continue their kiss. It was funny. Red had asked for his schematics when they first really, properly met, and now his hands were tracing and identifying every part of him, arms, treads, torso, chest. He may have had smaller hands than Max, but he made up for it by moving them constantly, covering him in a soft shiver.

"Yes. I almost feel safe." Red let out a noise that was almost a laugh. "I'm sorry. That doesn't sound like much, but it is true."

"I know what you're trying to say."

He felt it, too. Neither of them could really feel comfortable, or safe, not for a long time down the road, but this was so good that they could almost forget. On the most basic level, this was Red's way of making sure he could feel and categorize and monitor any threat that Max presented and defend him from all outside attacks, and for Max it was a way to convince himself that touch, that physical contact could be something that wasn't driven by pure, violent, violating hatred.

Red climbed up into his lap as his knees grew weaker, hands now working their way down the outside of his thighs. Slowly, slowly, maybe one day this would be the phantom feeling that woke him up at night, and not…

He shuddered.

"Max?" Red whispered close to his ear. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," he said after a long exhale. "Just…maybe don't be so light. And, could you talk to me? I need to be sure…"

"It's not him. I can do that," Red murmured, then kissed the side of his head. "Do you want to hear about the cameras?"

"Sure."

"Surveillance footage for today starts at 00:00. The ship is on course for Patloc-II, to investigate rumoured Cybertronian activity possibly related to Drift of Rodion. Ship system activity normal until 04:56, when a flare from a nearby star interferes with navigation…"

The endless litany of data calmed his spark. There was only one person who would tell him this, one person who would touch him like this. There was nowhere else he could be but under Red's hands and under his protection.

"…maintenance drone carried out…"

"I love you, Red."

"…minor thermostat recalibration…pardon?"

"I said, I love you."

"Do you want me to say something?"

"You don't have to."

"It won't give you more power over me than you already have, and it's the truth. I love you, Max."

It wasn't what he'd imagined. He was a warborn. His idea of a relationship was a fling that ended with a transfer. As a warden, it hadn't even been that. This hadn't been in the cards.

Red leaned in again.

What this was…he didn't know. All he knew was that Red was here, and no one else, and he could live in this moment  _forever_  with Red's hands on his face, Red's purrs in his chest, Red's words in his mouth. The world was Red. He was Red. The glass over his eyes was red reflecting Red.

"Max," Red gasped. "Stay."

"Yes," he breathed.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up if you want to talk about Max and Red! or other things! I'm at daisyachain over on tumblr
> 
> If you like it or see something you'd like to point out, I'd be really glad of any comments or kudos ! Even if we're just talking spelling errors, since sometimes I go back and read over these things and have to wince when I've accidentally spliced two sentences together during editing


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